The Summer of 1995 A Companion Piece
by clairepotter
Summary: The most traumatic events in The Summer of 1995 from the point of view of Albus Dumbledore as he tells Ron and Hermione and the staff. Rated for themes of depression and attempted suicide.


Harry Potter was suffering from acute anorexia nervosa, that's what the doctor told me, I sat back in shock. How could this happen, we should have watched him over the summer, checked when his friends reported the return of their letters. I thought he was just dealing with things by taking time away from them, a retreat from our world.

I didn't mean him to retreat quite so far, he retreated from the whole world, not just the wizarding world, he retreated from life, fell into his pain, and gave it physical manifestation for all the world to see. Then he covered it up, hid the pain so very effectively, only for a couple of days though.

I dread to think what may have happened if I hadn't arranged those duelling lessons.

Now we have another problem, aside from hiding his illness, if Voldemort ever knew he would use it to his advantage, attack Harry while he was weak. The public would go spare, panic, and probably try and send howlers to Harry and maybe him and his staff too. The public were fickle; they would mostly turn on Harry for abandoning them. Idiots.

Someone had to tell Ron and Hermione though, and probably the other Weasley's. I have to tell the entire faculty too. Then they had to make a plausible lie as to Harry's whereabouts.

First I need to call a staff meeting, I idly wonder if someone else could tell the children, I really don't want to tell them. Severus would be able to explain better than I but he would not do so with due compassion to the situation, not with gryfinndors anyway. Sigh. I will have to do it myself, especially with Remus away every spare minute to sit with Harry.

The mans distraught, he goes to see Harry, Harry either shouts or cries at him, and then invariably falls asleep against him, then he comes back to me, and cries or shouts at me. He wants answers, answers Harry isn't ready to give. He asks me; what could I possibly tell him? I want answers just as much as he does. At least he returns to his rooms before sleeping.

I don't think we'll ever get the answers, not properly. As… no if, Harry gets well, I'm sure a picture will start to form, but I don't think we will ever get to the bottom of how Harry really feels. The doctor might though, he will have to tell almost everything, or make damn plausible lies to escape St Mungo's.

I start off the meeting with a calm face in place of my pained mien, I explain the situation, Remus cradles his head in his arms, feeling helpless and wanting to return to Harry's side. Minerva gasps shocked, but knows better than to cry, even if I know she will later. Flitwick falls off his chair, and Sprout just hangs with her mouth open. Severus just sits there as calm as ever, but I know better, for a second that seems to last an eternity, and yet disappear before its arrived I meet his eyes and see the inner turmoil. I am pleased at my decision not to invite Hagrid to this display; the emotion makes me want to take Minerva in my arms and cry with her. I want to take Remus and go to Harry's bedside and coax the child to talk and eat every second of the day. I want to help Flitwick off the floor and share that special look that shows my understanding. I want to gently close Sprouts mouth and tell her that everything is ok. I want to drag Severus to the hospital to make Harry feel better.

The only problem would be that I can do none of these. To cry with Minerva would be to let her think that the situation is beyond my control, it is, but she doesn't need to know that. To try and force-feed Harry would be to push him even further away from us, and he is so very isolated to begin with. To give Flitwick understanding would too be to share helplessness, helpless is something I am loathed to share, lest everyone falls into deeper despair. And I know before I even ask that Severus will not go to Harry's bedside despite the good it may do. I will still ask; that's the way things go.

I am sorely tempted not to tell Hagrid, he will cry where Minerva didn't, but tell him I must, he must cry now, and not when he faces Harry, who will need strength. True or not, in Harry's eyes it will be ok for him to be weak, but everyone else must be strong. It is the absolute right of the depressed; the suicidal.

Hagrid's reaction is one of tears and then resolve, I expected nothing less and I stayed strong for him, not being able to answer his questions but forcing myself to permeate hope and light not despair. And very briefly I envy the child who is laid in a bed forced to rest, allowed to be broken. That's the thing about being in a mental hospital, you can be as crazy as you want, as sad as you want, you're already there after all.

Then I see Harry, he ignores me for the longest time, I act cheerful, strong and hopeful, all the things I should be. I resist the temptation to pour veritaserum down his throat and make him open up, I didn't resist the temptation to offer him food, but I didn't persist.

I made him laugh, it surprises me that he can laugh, he looks the epitome of sadness, of sorrow and despair. He is almost angelic though in his near death state, so frail that it is almost ethereal and beautiful despite the bones and blueness. He is a child to my eyes now, where two days ago I had seen a young man, now I see a small under fed child again, sitting under a frayed hat with a scared but insistent look upon his face.

Harry is on the verge of tears as I leave, when I get to my office again, I want to cry again. I must see Ron and Hermione.

I have Dobby summon them and they come like lambs to the slaughter, looking a little worried for their missing friend, but cheerful otherwise. They lack the innate sadness that permeates my staff today; within minutes they will have been affected too. I consider sending them away.

They sit as directed and I cannot bring myself to smile. I am silent as I make an attempt at gathering my courage. Ron fidgets uncomfortably as I gaze at them, Hermione picks up on my anxiety and the sadness seems to begin affecting her before I even speak.

'It's Harry, what happened?' Hermione asks when I don't speak.

'Yes, it's Harry, forgive me Miss Gra… Hermione but I am finding this rather difficult. Your friend has been feeling a little, a lot, depressed of late, and hiding it rather well. Some people manifest depression by becoming withdrawn and their personality changes, others manifest it physically, they harm their physical bodies to reflect the pain and changes felt by the inner self.' I go into my teacher mode. Ron looks a little blank. Hermione's subconscious sparks in recognition; I see her brain working furiously to catch up.

'Do you understand the term anorexia nervosa Hermione, I believe it is more widespread in the muggle world than ours?' this time Hermione's eyes widen in total recognition and shock, she falls back into her chair pressing a hand against her head.

Ron still looks lost. 'What's anrexa nervosi?' he asked looking primarily at his friend.

She gets up and begins to pace frantically.

'Its self starvation Ron, Harry's starving himself to death, that's why he missed all those meals, that's why he slept so long, that's why he looked so weak, why he dazed off in class, why he missed class, don't you see.' Her voice got higher and higher as she fit the pieces together, until it broke of in a sob and she sat back down the puzzle as complete as she could make it.

Ron will not be able to complete it so quickly; he looks shocked and horrified, then happy again. 'But I saw Harry eat, with me at the pub' he says hopefully.

Hermione is too wrapped up in her own mind to answer.

'People with this condition become adept liars, given the magical checks on him he appears to have been practicing transfiguration, perhaps he fooled you into seeing something that wasn't there. He is ill Ron, I removed the appearance charms myself.' I tell him wearily, and in front of these children I show more weakness than I have with my staff.

Ron is lead away by an equally shell-shocked Hermione. She thanks me for letting them know and they disappear to grieve in private.

Then I go and visit Harry again, and I see the knife and oh. I don't know how I continue and get help, I want to fall to the floor and scream, grab Harry and shake him into sense. I don't, I am calm for the doctor, I organise treatment, and talk with hospital mangers. I tell the staff, yet again, I get much the same response. This time I have Remus tell Ron and Hermione a few days later, I cannot bear to be the bringer of more news.

Finally, it's late at night, and I sit alone in my chambers, I allow myself to cry. Tomorrow I will be strong again for them all, I will be strong for Harry, but for now it's just me, and I have earned the right to my weakness, I cry, silent tears dripping off my face.


End file.
